Dandelion Heads
by oi-oi-oi
Summary: Witnessing the most gruesome of crimes, the atrocious decapitation of Magistrate Samuel Philips, and the rather sleepy carriage ride to the City of New York. Crane and Masbath's mind. Two shot.
1. But I Saw Him!

**But I Saw Him! **

**Synopsis: Constable Crane is in a field, delirious after witnessing the Headless Horseman decapitate Magistrate Samuel Philips, and his loyal acolyte Young Masbath finds him there. A bit of Masbath's mind.**

**Oh…yes. And did I mention that I own nothing about these characters except what I put them through? I don't own Masbath or the Constable or Lady Van Tassel…tee-hee… But I wish I did! A stoic constable with insectile headgear, a murderous witch with an insane lust for revenge, and a little darling boy with a great accent…who could want more in a valet, eh? **

**But, since we are on the topic of ownership…I _do_ happen to own the horses. So, ha! I do own something after all.**

**UUU**

**S**omething_ was amiss, I felt it in my bones. Agreed, everything in town was amiss these days, but, today, it was more so… The air of the day was still, breathless, choking, in-waiting, just like it is before a thunderstorm. I could say 'pregnant', too, but that would make it sound too fertile, too alive, too thriving…this was a dead day. Speaking of pregnant—the Widow Winship? I never thought… and certainly I never would have guessed…_

_I lifted myself up off the Van Tassel's polished oak kitchen bench, which had been my home and bed since I had become both an orphan and a servant. My eyes watered from the warm sting of morning sun, and my joints ached; all my sores had stiffened while I slept and it was like hot pinchers when I tried to move. _

_The advantage was that I had access to the Van Tassel kitchen. As you can imagine, I was happy with this. My Father, who now lies in Heaven with my Mother, was a hard working husbandman, but bad times had fallen upon us. Mother had died of a great fever, when I was but a child of three, and my Father had never completely recovered from the loss of her… I would catch him whimpering like a frightened child, sometimes when I woke in the night. Then, came news of eviction from our landlord… The landlord himself had died with fever, leaving his next-of-kin to sell the cottage we called home. _

_The townsfolk pitied us, and the Van Garrets gave us shelter in their coachhouse—but we Masbath men were 'to be proud, never pitied' my Father told me. So, we worked loyally for the Van Garrets, and they gave us shelter and wages, in return. I think, Peter Van Garret became fond of us and 'accidentally' slipped a few extra coins in our purses. I would smile at him, and he'd jovially press his finger to his thin lips. Peter was a good man to us._

_It seems only the good are being killed nowadays, and the bad can't stop living…_

_I'll tell you a bad man…that Doctor Lancaster. I have suspicions of him. He's always looking Sarah up and down, like she's some fine cranberry pie. It seems wrong, since he has a wife already. But, I suppose greedy men can't be satisfied with one woman…and that's why I do not trust him. He shows greed. _

_Doubtlessly, Constable Crane would find fault in these suspicions. He is much cleverer, when it comes down to deduction and logic. He is a learned man, worthy of my respect. Although, he's helpless with nature—just the other day, I had caught him squirming at the sight of a dormouse in the parlor. I consoled him by saying the mouse was more frightened of him, than he was of it, but he only turned pale and left the room as quickly as he could… I find that somewhat pathetic…_

_Well, then. Another day. And a day that seemed like it would bring tidings of ill-will, too…_

_I folded the cotton blankets Lady Van Tassel had given me, and placed them near my bench. After having a cool swig of water, I tore off a piece of rye bread from a loaf sitting in the greenwood cupboard. I chewed the bread, as I ventured to the dusty hall and climbed up the stairs… my destination was Constable Crane's room. He would need my assistance, like always— and I was glad to give it, too. _

_I didn't bother to knock; Ichabod was never undressed and, at this hour, he was usually wide awake and ready to tear up graves, desecrate corpses, and lecture me about how the Hessian was a 'fabrication of fear and ignorance'. I knew better than he. The Hessian was real, and he rides with my Father's blood wet on his sword. _

_I swung the door open, and walked in, "'Morning, sir. I hope you have had a good night's sle—" _

_I stopped in mid-sentence, as I was shocked to find Ichabod Crane no where around. The bed was smoothly made, the ledger and inkwells closed and bound, his papers stacked neatly in a corner of his desk, and the only thing missing was his coat. I rubbed my thumbs over my eyes, to clear off any dirt that might have hindered my vision, but, nay! Nay! He was nowhere. _

"_Child?" _

_A voice came from behind me, and I turned around to see Lady Van Tassel. A wooden fear temporally spread out within me, but it went away soon enough… It was only the kindly Lady Van Tassel, smiling her welcoming and motherly smile. She was nothing to be scared of. _

"_Child?" She said, "Has the constable…? Oh. I see he has not returned…" _

"_Returned, ma'am?" I asked, feeling a prick of suspicion rise in my instincts. _

"_Why, yes." She replied, smiling, "I thought you would know of it. He left at the break of dawn, in rather a hurry, and he has not returned since. Child…" She smiled and laughed slightly, "Do not look so fretted! I am sure your master has simply taken a morning jaunt, my child." _

_A…morning jaunt? Ichabod Crane never simply took a morning jaunt. I had not known the man much more than a week, but I knew him enough to see he wouldn't go 'jaunting'. He was not the sort of man who took lighthearted jaunts. He was a serious man. _

"_Do you know where he went?" I asked, suddenly eager. _

"_No," She sighed, and smoothed out her rich emerald skirts, "But he shall return." The lady smiled an affectionate smile at me again, "Oh, you seem so flushed! Shall I go and have Sarah make you a drink, Young Masbath?"_

_I shook my head, and politely smiled back. I suddenly was not in the mood to drink, or eat, for that matter. This was strange, this absence of Constable Crane. It was unlike him. As the air had prophesied—something was definitely amiss. _

_He would have beckoned me to help him, if it had been something he needed aid in. So, he must have not needed aid. And he would have taken his ledger and satchel and leather bag if he was to go to investigate a crime. So, he mustn't have gone on the trail of crime. Ichabod Crane must have been in a hurry, since he had told no one of his whereabouts—he always made doubly sure to tell others where he went, in case of any emergency._

_I frowned, as I closed Constable Crane's door, and I dug my hands into my coat to warm them from the freezing morning air. Lady Van Tassel floated her way downstairs and into the parlor, leaving me to myself again. _

_Somewhere in my thoughts, an idea came to me. A good idea, and a worthy plan. Ichabod Crane was in trouble, and I was the one to find him and dig him out of it… I trotted down-stairs, buttoned up my coat to the neck—and then I dashed out the door. _

**UUU**

_I stopped running when I opened the stable doors, and walked into the dry, hay sheltering. The horses, it seemed, had better warmth than the humans did inside the mansion. Maybe, I should start sleeping in here. _

_The horse allowed to me by Baltus Van Tassel was Chester Charles. He was a young horse, sort of small-structured too, but bulging with muscle and power—The horse was maize colored and had a diamond patch of white on his muzzle. He was better tempered than most other horses the Van Tassels owned, so I considered myself lucky. _

_Chester Charles was in his stable, absentmindedly neighing and grunting in his own way. I felt a pang of guilt, since I had forgotten to give his ration of oats to him, and that the air was cold enough to make his nostrils' breath come out in crystals; I had forgotten to give him his blanket. But the horse was a good one, and he was a tough as nails—he seemed to not mind my forgetfulness. _

_Katrina's pure white horse, Psyche, was sleeping in the corner of her soft-floored stall. That horse was the most pampered and spoiled of the lot; the little thing had more ribbons and oats and carrots than she knew what to do with. Alastar and Patience—the old farm horses— were both ill-temperedly kicking at their stalls, flaring their muzzles, and making a general ruckus. This was their standard way of waking up. _

_But old, feeble Gunpowder was no where, just like his master was no where. _

_My heart hardened, and I had a burst of resolute courage. I unlatched the swollen door to Chester Charles' stable, untied his lengthy reins, and then fastened his knotted, dirty cloth saddle on him. _

_I then led him out to the open farming yard, tied him to a post outside the clucking chicken pen, and I nimbly hurried back into the mansion, for one more thing. From the bench, I got out my Father's brown bess musket, my powder pouch, and an ancient box of bullets. I prayed to God that I would not need to put these to use—but it was always better safe than sorry. _

"_Chester!" I said, when I returned to him, my musket in hand. I got on his back, and shook the reigns, "Let's go, boy! Yah, yah!" _

**UUU**

_After searching the Hollow high and low for my master, taking a good two or three hours on my horse…I didn't find him until, riding into Bake's Field, I saw the round body of Magistrate Philips. His head was gone, and the neck showed neatly severed red, stiffened tubes and veins and meat. The Horseman's work. _

_I paused, breath gushing out of me, and lifted my rifle. _

_I saw the Constable not but ten or eleven yards away from me—on his back, and his face white as wax. His legs were spread apart from each other, and he was trembling like an autumn leaf. His eyes stared up to the clear sky, not making a single move, and he gripped the fragile hay beneath him, crunched it in his palms, as if he wanted something to hold onto. _

_I wondered how long he had been lying there. I waited for the constable to catch sight of me, but his eyes stared up at the heavens—not moving one bit. I might've thought him a dead man, if it weren't for his shivers and heavy breathing. _

"_Sir?" I said, approaching him cautiously. I feared that he might be startled. _

_He gave me no answer, but his eyes instantly zipped towards me. They were a madman's eyes. Glittering, terrified, trapped, fiercely afraid—he had almost an animal's face— I felt my steps become soft and weary, as I got closer to him, as one would approach a bear or a snake. He was usually so pompous and thoughtful, and to see him in such a state was surreal to me. _

"_It's only me, sir," I consoled him. I lowered my musket to the floor, to show his wild eyes that I meant no harm. _

"_Y-young…" His voice was jittery like a bunch of crickets were held in his throat, "Mas-Masbath?"_

_He eyed me, suspiciously, as if he were wondering if I really was who I said I was. _

"_Aye, only me, sir…only me, now…" _

_He was quick to snap out, "G-get on the ground!" _

"_Sir?" _

"_Get down! Before it r-returns!" _

"_Sir—" _

"_GET DOWN!" _

_I obediently fell to my feet. Madmen are never to be told 'no', and the constable was indeed now as mad as they get. I made sure to load my musket, just in case. _

"_Sir, what happened to you?" I felt my own hands shaking. _

_He turned his face towards me…His hair was wet with sweat and dew, and his face was slick as a wet riverside stone. He looked close to fainting, but I think his madness kept him awake. _

_He pulled me closer to him, strongly. They say madmen have the strength of ten men, so I didn't dare tear away from him. _

_Sharply—sharper than any voice I have ever heard—he whispered: "It…came!" _

_I swallowed, "What came, sir? Was it… the Horseman?" _

_He shuddered, and his eyes glazed over, in memory of something. "H—Horseman! I—it's—he—right there, Masbath, right before my eyes! Just there, just as plain as…day…" _

"_Let me help you up." _

"—_Clean as dandelion heads!—"_

"_He is real, sir." I said, somberly. But I was glad he saw the truth. "Didn't we all tell you?" _

"_But— but, but, but, but—" _

_I tried to calm him. It was no use, anyway, but I tried still. I tried to lift him up, but he was too heavy and sleek with sweat for me to carry, so I got hold of his feet and dragged him down the road. _

_He struggled, "I saw him, Masbath. I saw him. The horse…and the head…simply, gone. No head! The head was gone! D-do you understand? Headless! Masbath! Headless!" _

"_Aye," I replied, "They call him the Headless Horseman with good reason, sir." _

"_But—but, but—"_

_The constable paused, gasping for air. The man was truly insane, twisting and turning in my grasp like a spoiled child who doesn't want to go to bed. I kept hold of him, though. I wouldn't let him go, not for the life of me. _

"_Masbath, it's… impossible! _

_And then I noticed his babbling and struggling ceased, and his whole body went vacant and limp as a rag cloth. He had fainted—and I sighed, relieved, since it meant he couldn't struggle anymore with me.

* * *

_

**Yes, I've decided to give you guys a little more…here's a snippet from a story I'm working on now. Just to let all the past 'Number 31' readers know, this is it's prequel…I will soon begin the actual mystery again sometime in October…but I am presently gearing up my prequel to 'Number 31'. **

**So, here is a little bit of the tale I've temporally titled 'Afterthought' (it is the respective prequel to 'Number 31'). Just a taster :)**

'_Pickety-Witch…Pickety-Witch…Who has got a kiss for the Pickety-Witch?' _

'_Pickety-Witch…'_

The world had been unbalanced, twirling around in a dizzying circle, and the high-tuned violins in the night's background, and the blindfold, only set the unstableness to higher levels of discomfort for Katrina. The young lady had not particularly enjoyed being the 'prize' of a flirtatious party game, but she had given her consent, to play her part and to set an example of cheeriness for the rest.

She remembered stretching her arms out, whilst crackling, and then catching someone. And it was not Brom's scratchy chin and strong jaw. Katrina could not suppress a smile, for she immediately presumed it to be the unfortunate Theodore—Theodore, the poor lad, always seemed to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time—and there was no doubt that Brom would throw a fit at him after the party, giving mild threats to Theodore to not come near 'his woman' again. Poor, dear Theodore…

The emotions and images echoed in the young lady's mind, repeating themselves over and over, '_Is it Theodore_?'

The answer was deathly soft, '_Pardon, miss, I am only a stranger.'_

Katrina had not recognized his voice, and she then knew that he was indeed a stranger. By this time, she had learned practically every voice in Sleepy Hollow…and, with some of them, she could even tell who a person was by the sound of their footsteps.

But, she reasoned, this stranger had been caught, and he _did_ rightfully merit a kiss, no matter what Brom's reaction would be.

_'Then have a kiss on account.' _

As she said this…the stranger's cheeks grew slightly warm. Katrina did not let this stop her, and she rose up on her toes and gave the stranger's bloodwarm cheek a small peck.

When she took off her blindfold, the first thing that had struck her were the stranger's eyes. They were black as night. Ebony eyes.

The dark eyes gleamed in the jack-o-lantern's pale orange light, and, for a brief moment, the eyes were struck dumb as the stranger took an astonished step backwards. Although his mouth mumbled something out about wanting to see her father, the young witch could clearly see the shimmer in his eyes whispering, 'Your looks freeze me.'

In all honesty, the first time she was able to judge him, Katrina did not believe the stranger to be anything akin to the sort of a constable. Like a girlhood porcelain doll, this stranger was too frail and fragile to be an authority on anything, but she had indeed underestimated the daunted man. Perhaps, she had conjectured, he might be a traveling merchant, trying to sell a new _jardin chinos_ tablecloth or a set of cheap cutlery. Yes—and it had been a confusing surprise when she had heard him proudly introduce himself as, 'Constable Ichabod Crane, sent to you from New York to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow.'

…Indeed, a stranger…

**Well, there you have it. Just a little snippet. Soon, I'll give you the whole thing…hehehe…**


	2. The Carriage Ride to New York

Edward Scissorhands—in progress, editing some chapters, and finishing up the rough draft for the upcoming one.

TT&FS—Am doing the outline for the next chapter…The chapter's name is "Girl's Can't Play Cricket" (I'll prove that wrong, hehehe…)

**P.S (To Cathy) **This is the chapter I took off...And, yes, thanks to you, I saved it...:)

**Random fact**...in circa the late 18th century, New York City was actually called (or written like) New-York City...

* * *

_**The Carriage Ride To New-York**_

* * *

**(As told in the Voice of One Constable Ichabod Crane) **

OOOOOOOOoooo0ooooOOOOOOOO

The sun had dimmed down to a slim line across the vegetated horizon, and it spread a silvery veneer over the bumps and knots along the Hudson Hills. Through the carriage window, I watched as the day's dying flame gently licked the mountains, the gnarled trees, the overgrown plants, the forests that were speeding past our trail. The air, even in the isolated carriage, seemed cold, and was sharp against my cheek like a knife.

The carriage jostled up and down, and down and up again, in the manner you would expect a small ship upon violent waters. The village of Sleepy Hollow, that cursed and blood-drenched borough, was now far behind the carriage, and I could neither no longer detect the pungent, choking smell of the Windmill's fire…nor could I hear the tolling of the Old Dutch Church's bells, which were tolling oh-so-solemnly for the newly dead. I savored my freedom from that hellish place, in the way a starved and thirstful man relishes his first taste of bread and water.

Yet I did not leave this place barren. No, indeed, I am returning with more than I bargained for and more than I believe, at present, that I will be able to rightly handle. I must admit that I am nervous about it. 'It', of course, being Katrina and Young Masbath. I do not know what I did to deserve Miss Katrina, I fear that she feels a certain...a certain...obligation to be my wife after I avenged her father and rescued her from certain death... and, perhaps, I will disappoint the young lady. We certainly are awkward together; she, being most graceful and charming, a wealthy heiress, and a devout sophisticate of the preternatural arts, and I being dirt poor (I mean this almost literally, since have I barely a penny to my name and have been threatened eviction from my landlords countess times from my failure to pay the rent) and stoic, heartless, calculating Man of Science...with ideas and notions nobody cares to listen to.

My mind it split in two, with one half fearing that she and I will not mix well, and the other half completely disregarding the former with an other-worldly reassurance that all is well, and all will be well. It is my reason battling my sentimentality, I know this, but I do hope earnestly for the best. I would like for everything to turn out well.

"Ichabod?"

Katrina's voice sent a strong shudder down my spine, for I was always easily startled when in contemplation. I pulled myself together, and twisted my head away from the jostling window and rested it on the lovely girl sitting next to me.

I replied, but my throat was paper dry. "Yes, Katrina?"

"How much farther to the City?" She asked, as her wide brown eyes looked up to me.

I shook my head, sighed, and cleared my throat, "A night's journey, at the least… we passed Newburgh not but a mile ago, I am sure, and the City is at the ending of the Hudson River," I quickly estimated the distance between our current location and New-York City, "Yes, I would say a night's journey is about how much farther we have."

Gingerly, Katrina nodded her head. Her eyelids were lowering slightly and her head wilted downwards, and, betweenwhiles, her breathing was becoming very lax. She had been so brave, thusfar, so much braver than I ever could have been if I was in her position. Katrina has lost so very much lately; so many of those things...rather, people...were dear to her. She has every reason to be tired, the poor girl, and she has every reason to be weary.

"Tell me about the City, Ichabod." She sighed, hollowly. I could tell she was on the verge of sleep. "What shall I expect to see there?"

I hesitated for a moment, for I had almost forgotten. I had been in the countryside for so long and it had had such a hypnotic and mind-clearing effect that I had nearly lost my memory of a now hazy, misshapen and warped recollection of the City. "Katrina, you know I—"

"Yes, I know," She replied, smiling, "You are not accustomed to society, so I shall forgive your manner."

I smiled back, as I caught the tease. The night she came into my chamber room was speedily refreshed in my mind, like a field of wheat after a heavy rain. I mentally laughed at myself, as I remembered how pompous and pretentious I had been with her, when she was only trying to be a civilized hostess and apologize for Brom Van Brunt's behavoir.

"But, do indulge me," She persisted, "Surely, you must not have walked the streets blind, Ichabod? You must have something to impress me with, or to shock me with?"

"Very well," I said, my voice being tinged by the sudden jumping of the carriage— "You will see cobblestone streets…"

"Oh! I thought as much…" She said, in such a serious way that made me want to laugh… at some points I truly found Katrina Van Tassel just too adorable for words.

I tried to press my memory backwards, "And women with plumed hats—"

Her eyes brightened like two little stars, "Are they Parisian?"

My mind went blank. "I am not completely sure, but they are plumed hats, all the same. Either French or English hats. I would not know, Katrina, you would know better than I about style… I honestly do have a feeling that you shall settle in nicely."

"Do you believe so?" She smiled, very pleased. I could also see a little tint of relief in her dark eyes.

"I do believe so." I said, nodding my head.

"And," She was a bit worried, "How do you think Young Masbath will fare?"

I, too, had been a little concerned on how the boy would 'settle'.

"Well. We shall see." I said, "I do wish he can find his bearings in such a foreign place. He is a capable lad, no doubt, and if he can face a demonic manifestation I believe he shall fare quite well in the, comparatively mild, streets of New-York."

"I hope so, Ichabod." Katrina said, sighing. I could see she was hoping for many things, and, truely, so was I.

The last glimmer of fading sunset extinguished over the looming presence of the western mountains. The outside world was black as a glossy raven's wing, and it had not the illumination of the candle-like stars or the pleasant moon. The forests' branches curled around our path like lion's claws, ready to sink into our flesh and tear it open. Such a foreboding night, I thought, and I found myself praying that it was not a bad omen—a bad _omen_, oh, I could hardly believe that I was actually considering such destructive nonsense! But this Sleepy Hollow, no matter how horrible and how horrific it was, had forced me, violently, to realize that nothing is just as impossible as it seems; magick, evil eyes, ghosts and goblins, apparitions and visions, bewitching witches, and even omens—they were as real as any scientific method.

Katrina sank down in the sleek leather carriage seat, and her silken black-and-white striped dress ruffled out, filling the inside of the carriage with the rich, flounced material. Her muslin bow, plump soft ivory skin, and golden-spun hair almost shone with their own angelic light in the bible-black darkness of the night.

I was perplexed about what course were ours to take—were we going to be, in fact, married? The matter had never been discussed, but was, every day, implied. I definitely would not offer any objections to matrimony. But, in a sense, I had already proposed, had I not? My offer of bringing her to the City. A respectable lady like Katrina deserves to be a wife and not a mistress… and I think that her father, Baltus Van Tassel, would have wanted a home for his daughter. But—one does not just…walk into a chapel, sign papers, and walk out without some sort of…discussion, perhaps? Of course, I'm no expert in the world of women, either, and this hinders me only but further in understanding what to do.

Katrina was starting to doze off, slowly, like the waning of a candle at the end of its wick. She was so very beautiful.

I was tempted to slide a bit closer to her, and encircle her in my arms. Of course, as always, I hesitated. I was afraid of her rejection, but I knew Katrina would not be so cruel. Or would she? No, she would _not_. And still, there is the doubt that she _might_…! Perhaps I do not have a heart, perhaps I cannot be a good husband, perhaps I am a failure altogether.

A warmth interrupted my thoughts…

It came directly from my shoulder, and I looked down to see Katrina's head resting there, limply. A smile broke out on my lips, and I could not, for the life of me, stop smiling—The smile turned to a soft snicker as I heard her snore. Katrina, a prim and proper young lady, snoring as loudly and coarsely as one of my fellow constables…? It was too darling, too precious for words...!

I carefully nudged Katrina over, so gently as not to wake her, and took off my jacket. I waved the jacket out a little, to smoothen and straighten it, so it might be used as a blanket for her. I laid the jacket over her front, and tucked in whatever areas were loose.

I allowed myself to kiss her lightly on the forehead, but I did not dare do more than that. I also allowed my arms to hold onto her, letting her sleeping head nuzzle in my chest. I had never been this straightforward with a woman before, not even with a sleeping one, and I found my palms beginning to perspire.

The young lady smelled of honeysuckle, pumpkin and lavender, which tingled the senses delightfully.

I hardly knew her, but it seemed like I had known her since… well, possibly, since the very creation of the universe, which is completely ridiculous, but it was my impression, nonetheless. I had seen her without seeing her, talked with her without ever having met her—it was not exactly like that, for it is hard to explain. It was most similar to…as if I had sensed herbefore knowing she existed, like one feels the wind's breath but never actually sees it.

I shook my head, greatly disappointed with myself. I was being far too chimerical; this was not how I usually was. No, indeed, I was a different man altogether now, and was not Ichabod Crane at all anymore—Ichabod Crane had wandered off somewhere, in the hills, or in the forest, and he got lost and left his body and me (whatever I was) behind—me and my wild fancies about contradictory things like knowing people, and yet not knowing them, at the exact same time!

I tried to keep my mind steady, but it was as jumpy and incommoding as this carriage I was sitting in. My mind insisted on thinking about Katrina and me, and I consented without much choice.

A constable and a witch are not exactly a fairy story couple, are they? The two seem so...oddly mismatched. Oh, and _I, _being a man of realities, a man of strictly facts and calculations, a man who proceeds upon the principal that two and two are four, and not one digit over—being presumably engaged to a star-gazing, romantic and sentimental, cauldron stirring _witch_. To me, the irony was overwhelming.

And now, my reason called for my reserve. I knew the cheerless world all too well to believe this sudden happiness. What dog would lick the hand of a master who had beaten him? No. The world was no light fairytale fancy, but a god-hunted, plague-breeding, rotting, and tyrannous world. I had seen it. I was not ignorant of it. And, neither, was I ignorant of how fickle Life sweetly kisses you before jabbing a dagger in your side.

Even Katrina's love, I told myself, must have a motive, a specific purpose, to it. Indeed, yes, half of me trusted her and wished desperately to give her my heart, my hand, and all else—but, too, a jaded, darkened, burnt half hissed out a sour warning, 'Be watchful, Ichabod, of yourself. Keep high barriers over and around the perimeter of your soft and foolish heart. Women lure imbeciles. Her temptation eyes shall only distract you, whilst her elegant hands rip out your heart and tear it in-two.'

But, sweet Katrina? It was not possible; the Katrina who was leaning next to me, in such innocent, adorable slumber? That lovely young lady who comforted me and, of course, put me in place when I began my insufferable egotism? Surely, I am not so hardened as to distrust such a person... Doubt poured into my mind like water being poured into a cup. I doubted my instincts, my principles, my motives, my character... everything that I was composed of, I doubted it...

I saw my mind was in civil war; two equally strong sides fighting, and the halves could never fit together. I could almost hear the gunshots and cannons blow inside my soul. I knew that one side would be defeated and then would decay away forever, leaving the winner to thrive, flourish, and surge about me in victory.

But I did love Katrina dearly—hold a moment, hold—Well, actually, yes… yes, I could…I could definitely say this. As baffling as it was, and as stale my heart was, I could feel such overpowering things for the young lady. It was as if I were a man of ice, and she were the blazing sun—I had slowly began to melt from her presence. Drip, drip, drip, drip; then the drips turned to tickles, and then large puddles. Perhaps, someday the ice shall be completely thawed…

The carriage gave a sharp jolt, tossing us upward for a moment. Katrina grumbled and babbled, softly, but she promptly fell asleep once we had maintained smooth ground.

A lime-green booklet with delicate gold lettering fell out of Katrina's hands and landed on her lap. Curiously, I raised my eyebrow, reached for it, examined it carefully, and then tried to read the title in the carriage's dim butter yellow-orange light. I squinted my eyes and eventually ciphered out … _"The Application of Moonwort, Myrtle, & Hawkweed: A Collective of Charms and Spells, Concerning."_

A Tome of Spells... What else had I expected? My glance over to her bags, revealed a clutter other romance novels and sonnets… some of which I had allowed myself read. _Knight's of the Round Table _was, to my eternal and everlasting shock, actually rather good and I found myself, dare I say it, actually enjoying a tale of romance. Even as a child, I had not bothered with Shakespeare or Defoe, I stuck plainly with Aristotle, Euclid, and Plato, and I had drowned my mind with mathematics and memorization. Now that I remember those times, I see what a miracle it was that I did not go outright mad.

Not as though my unsettling experience in the Hudson Highlands has at all caused me to abandon either Science, or Reason—and never shall I let go of them. They have formed a mind I am proud to harbor, and the rules and methods of my learned obsessions, to me, are not broken—they are only bent, slightly, in the way of a supple-jack. New knowledge, too; knowledge of sacred superstitions, unnatural necromancy, the never-dying lust for blood, and preserving prophecy … white and black magic (and all other colors of magic, true), and the tragic recollections of my times with my Mother. I had learned much, and gained much, and lost much …and, oh God, how I wish that so much raw, cross-grained ruthlessness had not reached Katrina's pure ears and eyes. I have seen violence enough in my time, it does not matter about what my eyes see, but this young girl, who has wronged no one, does not merit such grievous sorrow and suffering...

I sat corpse-still in my seat, while keeping an inflexible grip on Katrina. Glaring up to the ink-black sky, I emptied my mind's thoughts; yet the dark heavens offered no means of warm consolation to my bewildered eyes. The dark as death night was scant of its jewels, the stars, and wanting of its crown, the moon.

My sudden realization of my loss of jacket, instantly made the night cold. A few giddy shivers skipped down my freezing back, and my nostrils stung with the inhaling of night frost. I gave a nervously envious glance over to Katrina, who was snuggled tightly in my jacket. My heart melted, and my limbs weakened. How could I regret giving her the jacket? I was not so cold, after all... nothing that a good, spluttering fire in my small hearth back in New-York couldn't fix.

And, to think ofthe dutiful Masbath—who was outside, on the rider's seat, and doubtlessly miserable with the weather. I am uncertain if he will manage to get a wink of rest, in these rough conditions. I must see to it that the boy is given an opportunity to drink something warm and a dry place to sleep, when we make our arrival in the City. He will deserve it for braving such harshness, and for keeping hold of our luggage.

My eyes started to flutter, my vision softened in a drunken blur, and my eyelids felt as heavy as led. The coldness, my extinguishing strength, and the stillness of the night made a solemn, silent, midnight lullaby. I lost myself somewhere between bending down to kiss Katrina and my last conscious gush of the chilled, harsh night air…

OOOOOOOOoooo0ooooOOOOOOOO

Awakening, to a blazing white light, and the feel of Katrina's thermal kiss on my frigid skin... Soon, I was aware of the rowdy yells and commands of merchants, selling their wares, and the clip-clop of horses' hooves drawing their phaeton carriages. Thesolemn murmur of businessmen consulting other fellows, while they rushed and checked bank notes in the polished marble establishment of the Bank of New-York, mixed awkwardly with the invigorated chirp of gossip between the ladies and gentlemen having their morning walk through town.

My vision grew less and less clouded, my mind sobered a little from sleep, and I peered out the window to see the very familiar gray and untidy cobbtlestones of New- York City.

I straightened my posture,when Irealized Katrina was already quite awake and that Masbath was patiently standing outside the carriage and being weighed down by the our heavy luggage . Frankly, the boy looked like the sight of the City shocked the breath out of him.Yet Katrina was looking at me, instead of the City. And, what was more, she was concerned, and was waiting patiently for me to awake.

"Ah," I said, half-sighing. The warm awakening was sinking down to my throat, "Just in time for a new century…"

I sprung to open the door, and my chest soaked up my first breath of city fog in weeks, the smell of stale fish and meat, smoke from the apartment chimneys,spices from the East... What a different world this was from Sleepy Hollow; so much so, that even the air smelled different. I offered out my hand to the young lady in the carriage, and she promptly grasped it. Katrina picked up her huge skirts and climbed down the footing of the carriage. Quickly, the carriage galloped off down the bustling crowd of New Yorkers and the slick cobbltestoned streets, leaving us three in the vastness of the City.

Katrinabrought me forward, showing no coyness to her new surroundings. Her eyes widened to the size of tea-saucers as she gazed at everything in wonder. My chest swelled as she weaved her arm into mine, and yet I felt no embarrassment about it. The two of usholding hand-in-hand seemed to be the most natural thing in the universe.

Feeling the first flakes of winter snow, melt on my face caused my skin to smart, slightly, but this did not prevent me from smiling...Even if the sky had rained down burning coals, I doubt that would have quelled my drunken grin. My doltish grin still plastered on my face, I glanced over to an excited Katrina. For a moment, she stared at me with an expression of shock blended strangely with amusement. I then realized that Katrina has never seen me grin… nor had I actually grinned in years, I believe. I cannot even recall the last time I laughed out-loud.

She tightened her grip on my arm, and proudly led me forward. I knew it! I knew it from the start, there was no denying it.Katrina was a New Yorker at heart, these streets would fast become her home, and she would fare better than I ever will, or would have, fared here.

Suddenly, her grip on me loosened and the bright enthusiasm for the City dulled in her eyes. I frowned and looked to her, and she was staring back at the shrinking boy behind us, Young Masbath. I knew without looking, that the boy was frightened. I could feel the fear radiate from behind me, and inside myself I had pity for the child. The City was a place of wonder and, also indeed, great fear.

We had a wordless understanding, she and I. And I knew, I must say something.

"You'll soon get your bearings, Young Masbath," I said, addressing the timidboy behind us, "The Bronx is up, the Battery is down—and _home_, is this way."

The rapid flow of people hustled to and fro, making the three of us almost lost in the crowd.

OOOOOOOOoooo0ooooOOOOOOOO

Another preview for 'Afterthought', the prequel to 'Number 31'…A little dialogue that occurs between the witch and the constable.

_A smile blossomed on her lips, "I never would have suspected you to take pleasure in Shakespeare." _

_He lowered his head and nodded it, making the ridiculous mop of black hair rustle up and down, "I have put myself to learning the plays of Shakespeare by heart—it tests and trains the capacity of my memory to process large amounts of information. Memorization, a vital task to any scientist and, if you will, an amateur lawman." _

_"Ah, I see…I would believe you to have found them foolish and sentimental. Which," She grinned, in momentary mischief, and the slyness rather surprised Crane. In a shocking second, the girl even resembled the pale Glenn Van Twiller and his scheming countenance all over, "Does make one wonder: Is it the want of procuring a more elastic memory your only purpose for studying such prose? For surely you could have just as easily memorized the long passages of logical facts from your scientific tomes. Or, perhaps, does the eminently practical Man of Reason have a weakness for tales of romance, I do wonder?" _

_U U U U U _

Hahaha…cheesy, I know…yet, I've been told that that scene is pretty 'cuddly'. Plenty of room for debate.


End file.
